Touched
by Aima D. Duragon
Summary: Chuck is writing again and Dean's not too happy with the outcome. SPOILERS for any episodes up to 5.5! Dean/Cas
1. Touched

**Title**: Touched

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: PG-13 for language and innuendo

**Spoilers**: up to episode 5.5 (though I tried to keep everything vague)

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the CW

**A/N**: Please review if you like it! I tried really hard to keep everyone in character! (Also note that this story is also on my livejournal *nods*). PS. I just recently re-updated this chapter! There were some minor errors and little changes to be made. Hope you enjoy! :)

* * *

Chuck was writing again.

Not that Dean gave two flips about that. After all, the guy was a prophet of God, and this so called "Winchester Gospel" had to be written by _someone_. Dean thought he had taken that whole gospel blow rather well. He was creeped out to hell by it, but he had come to terms with it nevertheless (with the aide of a few bottles of whiskey of course).

No, the writing wasn't the problem exactly. The problem was…Chuck was getting _published_ again. And apparently the series was going over much better this time around.

Dean's eyes were currently glued to Sam's computer screen as he scrolled through the Google results he'd found. He'd been through five pages so far, and that had been more than enough to ignite his short temper. He remembered Sam mentioning slash once before but—Dean growled deep in the back of his throat.

He turned back towards Sam, who was currently busy cleaning the rifles on the motel bed. Feeling his older brother's stare, Sam turned.

"What?" Sam asked with a furrowed brow.

"Man, people these days are some kind of sick."

Curiosity perked, Sam put down his rag and rifle, and walked over the table where Dean sat. He leaned over his brother's shoulder and his lips immediately broke out in a wide grin.

Dean frowned up at him, "What are you so happy-go-lucky about? You don't find this disturbing?"

Sam straightened and his grin rose into a laugh as he walked back over to the bed. It reminded Dean of the way Sam used to be, and he felt a sharp pang of loss in the pit of his stomach.

"Hey you should be happy," Sam said, plopping back down on the old dusty mattress.

"Happy?"

"Yeah, that it's not—you know—you and me anymore."

Dean scowled and turned back towards the computer screen. "Yeah maybe…but me and _Cas_? I mean come on!"

"I don't know," Sam shrugged, "you guys do kind of have that whole lost soul/guardian angel thing goin' on. I mean, you have the guy's hand branded on your shoulder."

Dean rolled up his short sleeve and stared thoughtfully down at the burn. "What's that got to do with anything? And for the record, Cas is NOT my guardian angel. The prick's gotten me into way more trouble than he's gotten me out of."

"Dean, you would still be six feet under in the middle of nowhere if it weren't for him."

Dean snorted but didn't attempt to argue, which was apparently a bad idea since Sam was starting to look encouraged.

"And as for the mark, aren't brands kind of like a sign of ownership?" Sam asked, in his 'I'm smart 'cause I went to college' sort of way.

At that Dean merely grimaced and rolled his sleeve back down.

Sam smirked, "Guardian angel or not, Cas seems to be far more attached to you than anybody else."

"So that makes us gay?" Dean rebutted gruffly.

The younger brother shrugged once more, making sure to look intent on his cleaning. "Aren't angels sexless?"

"Sam…Cas is possessing a _man_."

"But does that make him a man?" Now Sam did stop and he looked up at his older brother with those strange grey eyes that seemed to always burn these days. "Castiel is Castiel, and I don't think you can call him anything more or less."

For some reason Dean's pulse was flying, and he was overly aware of how his racing blood was making his body throb. He got up suddenly, nearly knocking his chair to the floor in the process. Grabbing his jacket he quickly retreated towards the door, trying desperately to ignore the way Sam was looking at him.

"Where are you going?"

Dean grabbed for the brass knob and pulled the door open, "For a drink." The door slammed soundly behind him.

He paused just outside the door, sighing heavily and throwing on his jacket. The evening air was crisp and cool and refreshing to his over excited nerves. Muttering irately to himself for getting so worked up, he crossed the parking lot to where the Impala sat parked. He opened the door, sat, put the key in the ignition and made the engine roar to life. Dean sighed again, though this time with tranquil relief. There was something very calming about the rumble of an engine. Now he could just—

"Dean?"

Dean started so violently that he hit his head on the roof. He glared over to see Castiel sitting in the passenger seat, looking annoyingly serious as usual.

"Holy shit, Cas! How many times do I have to tell you, you can't just pop in on people like that?" Dean threw the car into drive and punched it out of the parking lot. This was _not_ what he needed right now—not with the Google results still frolicking around in his head.

"Did I startle you?"

"Yes, Cas! Yes you startled me!" Dean snapped hotly.

"That was not my intention." Castiel replied earnestly.

"That doesn't change the fact that you did!" Dean didn't know why he was yelling. He yelled a lot these days.

Castiel was staring at him now in the way that made the burn on Dean's shoulder prickle strangely. "You seem upset."

"Do I?" Dean replied sparsely, refusing to admit to Castiel what he wouldn't even admit to himself.

"Is it because I startled you?"

Dean glanced over at the angel, his brow knotted and his boiling blood too stubborn to settle. "What're you doing here, Cas?"

At that, Castiel turned his piercing gaze to the road. When he didn't answer immediately Dean simply snorted and turned his attention back to the road as well, attempting to forget himself in the mindless hum.

The angel took a deep staggering breath, "I did not know where else to go."

Dean's lips quirked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…that I am no longer welcome everywhere I once was. There is talk of me being stripped."

"Your grace?" Dean burst out before he could help it.

Castiel nodded gravely. "Yes."

There was a pregnant pause. "I won't let them do that to you, Cas," Dean huffed. "It's not right."

"If it is the will of the Lord—"

"Don't you give me that shit, Cas! Not after what we've been through."

Castiel stayed his tongue, but the damage had already been done. Dean was practically shaking now. Then, like a beacon of hope, a neon sign flashed up ahead. Dean gave the wheel a hard torque to the right and screeched into the parking lot of a bar by the name of "Dirty Dick's"—just his kind of place. It was a maneuver Sam would've thoroughly berated him for, but Castiel merely leaned forward to get a better view of the building. Speed, Dean imagined, wasn't anything new to the angel.

"What are we doing here?"

Dean threw open the door and stepped out onto the wet pavement. "Getting a drink."

Castiel mirrored the action and the two closed their doors in unison. "I don't need to drink."

"Maybe not to survive, but to live you do."

Castiel blinked blankly at him and with an annoyed snort, Dean turned and made his way to the entrance, noticing that the angel kept close at his heals. Just another thing Cas hadn't seemed to pick up on in terms of personal space.

As they neared the steps that led up to the door they came upon the lovely sight of a man spilling his guts all over the pavement. If Dean could help it, that would be him in a couple hours. Yeah puking sucked, but when you were that gone everything bad in life just didn't seem so bad anymore.

"That man should not be out when he's so sick," Castiel remarked timidly.

The hunter snorted, "Trust me, he's having a good time." Dean threw open the door and weaved his way through the crowd to the dimly lit bar. He didn't even check to see if Castiel had kept up. He didn't have to—he could practically feel the guy breathing down the back of his neck.

Temper bowing, Dean waved the bartender over and tried _not_ to think about anything concerning the "slash" business the internet had been so keen to enlighten him on. He didn't know why it bothered him so much really. It had been just a brush off the shoulder when it had been about him and Sam. Creepy maybe, but simply too ridiculous to entertain. It should be the same with him and Cas. But the way Sam had explained it to him…the way Sam had looked at him after…the whole thing gave him an odd sort of chill. The problem was, it _was_ plausible. Impossible, but plausible nevertheless. He and Sam had the safety net of being brothers, but he and Cas…he didn't know what they had exactly. He looked over at the angel, who was currently worrying over a loose string on the sleeve of his trench coat.

They weren't on any certain terms friends—you didn't exactly make friends living the kind of horrors they lived—but they had an understanding between them, and a mutual level of respect. Castiel was his only link to this fate that had been thrust upon him, and he knew the angel had sacrificed more than Dean deserved.

Castiel looked over at him suddenly, and Dean flushed as he realized he'd been staring.

Castiel's brow furrowed.

"Is something wrong?"

"Er," Dean began dumbly before the bartender interrupted.

"What'll it be?" she asked. The bartender was a tall slender brunette, anointed with the same sort of beautiful face he only ever seemed to find in small towns. She was just his type, and judging by the way she was smiling at him, he was hers too. How long had it been since he'd had a girl? Was Anna his last? He couldn't remember. That meant that it had been longer than too long.

Castiel's eyes were still on him, and his burn prickled more than ever.

"I'll have a Jack and Coke, and he'll have," Dean glanced over at the angel, "a Tequila Sunrise I think."

The bartender's smile changed slightly before she nodded and retreated to her stash of liquor. Dean frowned and scrunched his nose confusedly. Had he not showered today? He sniffed his underarm experimentally.

Not a minute later she returned with their drinks and took his credit card mechanically. He signed his receipt and she walked off with her copy without another word. Taking his drink he turned, puzzled, and nodded at Cas to follow him.

Conveniently enough they found an unoccupied booth. Dean slid fluidly onto the cushioned vinyl seat with a contented sigh, while Castiel maneuvered silently into the seat across. The lights were dim and the smell of smoke and perfume hung heavily in the air, but overall Dean was satisfied with the place. There were plenty of people to watch here, all smiling and laughing—so oblivious to the calamity that existed around them. But he liked them being oblivious. It was certainly better than the alternative—and it made them nicer to watch. After all, this was probably the closest he would ever get to having that sort of happiness.

"Do you wish you were them?"

Dean looked back at Castiel. The angel's eyes were hard and focused, and they looked at him as if there was nothing else to look at. Dean cleared his throat pointedly and took a large gulp of his drink, relishing in the burn that seared down his throat.

"I don't know. Sometimes? Don't you?"

Castiel lifted his glass, seemingly examining its contents. "I may not have much of a choice in the matter. We are alike in that way."

Dean scowled. "I've always had a choice, Cas, and I'd rather them be happy than me. So if there's any chance I can make their lives any less screwed up than mine, I'll take it. Killing monsters just happens to be the way to do it."

"You may choose to do your work, but your work choose you as well. Don't forget your fate, Dean."

"I don't want to talk about my fate, Cas," Dean huffed, draining the rest of his glass in one go. "I don't want to talk about anything like that tonight."

"Is there anything you do want to talk about?"

Dean raised a brow, "How about why you're not drinking that nice Sunrise I bought you."

Castiel traced a finger around the rim of his glass, and Dean trailed the motion like a cat eyeing a mouse.

"It seems to me," he said, glancing around the bar, "that alcohol has a way of clouding good judgment."

"No," Dean combated, "stupidity is what clouds good judgment."

"Well stupidity seems to be running rampant here."

Unexpectedly, Dean laughed then—actually laughed. He hadn't laughed in a long time, and maybe it was the result of the pre-buzz from the whiskey but it felt light and free and it didn't matter why. Castiel merely stared at him, expressionless. Dean quickly sobered and allowed the blanket of his heavy mood to settle over him once more.

Dean hummed thoughtfully, the ghost of a smile still pulling at his lips. "Did Jimmy ever drink?"

Castiel paused, "Occasionally. Wine mostly."

"And is drinking a sin?"

"Well of course the ingestion of any sort of alcohol is not a sin but—"

"What's the problem then?" Dean was smirking now, and he pounded his palms on the table and rose to his feet. "I'm going to get us another round, and I expect that Sunrise to be gone when I get back." Dean went to leave but hesitated, thinking. "But none of that turning alcohol into water business," he pointed at the angel, "that's cheating."

Five minutes later, Dean returned with four more drinks in hand (he figured he might as well save time). To his pleasant surprise he found Castiel's glass quite Sunrise-less. The angel looked up at him, then at his handful of drinks, then back again.

"I see we are going to be here a while."

Dean slid into the booth, not quite as fluidly this time. "You bet your ass."

"What about Sam?"

Dean looked down, his expression turning sour, "He's cleaning the guns." He slid two more Sunrises Castiel's way, not bothering to mention they were both double-shots.

The angel took one and sipped from it idly while Dean drained half of his.

"Has Sam shown any sign of wavering? Any more hints of withdrawal?"

"Not that I can tell," Dean replied, "and by the way you can add this to the list of shit I don't want to talk about."

"Forgive me," Castiel lowered his gaze.

They sat like that for a short while, drinking in strained silence.

"You know," Dean began slowly; hardly realizing he was speaking aloud, "I don't know him anymore like I used to. You can't go back you know? And he keeps trying to bring shit up but…" he trailed off, staring down into his glass distantly.

"But you are scared of what it will do to your relationship with him."

Dean looked up at him then, and there was something different in his expression Dean had never seen there before. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but there was a softened gleam in the angel's eyes, and the way the dim light shadowed his face made him look…sad somehow.

"He's all I got, Cas. You know that." So much for not talking about it.

"I do." Castiel took another drink, darkness creeping into his features. "Sam is lucky. I wish I had a brother like you."

"They're not going to take your grace."

"We shall see."

There was another round of uncomfortable silence, and while they finished up their second drinks, Castiel busied himself by watching the crowd while Dean cast him steeled glances laced with curiosity. Cas had only stayed with him this long a handful of times, and they'd certainly never been together this long without one of them getting into trouble of some sort. The angel only ever seemed to show himself when certain business needed tending it to, and most of it was hasty business at that. Being with Castiel here, like this, made him more real and ironically enough…more human.

"I think if I became human," Castiel began suddenly, trailing off of Dean's thoughts "that it would be nice to have a family.

Dean gave a scoffing bark of laughter. "You think we'll live that long?"

The angel looked back at him. His cheeks were already becoming flush. "I do not see how the Lord could allow such a wonderful place to be destroyed. What would be the point?"

Dean shrugged, "There's a lot of bad shit in the world, Cas. Hell you've seen it. These days it seems to be more of a miracle there's any real good at all. The evil—a lot of people do it to themselves you know—they let it in. Why try to save something like that?"

"You do," Castiel said, his mouth set in a hard thin line. "You still save them."

"Just shows what a sorry sap I am huh?" His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "But I'm just one guy."

"And it is written: blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children."

Dean blinked, "You were one of those kids who had to recite bible verses in school weren't you. I can tell." He smirked and grabbed for his third glass.

"Every angel knows God's word by heart. I never had to learn it."

"Must be a dull read by now then, huh, Chuckles?"

Castiel stared at him, brow knitted. He then looked down at his glass and seemed perplexed upon finding it empty. "I feel very," his brow grew tighter, "odd."

Dean grinned impishly, "Welcome to the wonderful land of tipsy."

"I should make the feeling go away."

"You can do that?"

"If I want." Castiel nodded, "But, it is…sort of nice—warm. What do you call the drink?"

"Yours," Dean said, taking his sweet time with his third glass, "is a Tequila Sunrise."

"And how did you know I would like it?"

"I didn't. But you seem like a Sunrise kind of guy. Figures that an angel would like a chick drink."

Castiel leaned forward, looking suddenly bright-eyed and intrigued and overall very un-Castiel. "You distinguish between drinks for males and females?"

Dean, who was taken aback by Castiel's abrupt shift of demeanor, found his tongue quelled for a long moment. He didn't know why but it suddenly felt like his heart was pounding very hard. "Uh, well, yeah I guess."

"How so?"

Dean coughed uncomfortably and settled back into his seat, decidedly ignoring this odd feeling that had his stomach fluttering. Shouldn't have eaten that second double-bacon cheeseburger for dinner.

"Well," he found his voice oddly stiff, "chicks typically dig sugary fruity shit, while guys like something with a bit more bite." Somewhere in the middle his mouth and gone dry, and he was half sure he'd slurred some of the words together.

Castiel eyes only brightened and the hummed thoughtfully, "Perhaps I should have found a female to possess then."

Like a shock of electricity Sam's words rushed back to him, and it was coupled with a borderline disturbing thought—the thought that had brought him here in the first place. Only now there was more. If Chuck was writing again, what if he was writing about them now? This very conversation? What if it was published? If the fans were rampant now, what would they make of him and Cas getting drunk together? What if they—

"Dean?"

Dean blinked, snapping out of his reverie and feeling as if he'd just sprinted a mile.

"You seem preoccupied. Is something wrong?"

"No," Dean replied too quickly, "just need another drink. He chugged the rest of his double and without another word, got up, and weaved his way to the bar.

He returned shortly with two more drinks in hand (both doubles again), but when he made to give one to the angel, he paused. It was Castiel's expression that made him do it. He had this blank sort of forlorn look on his face, like he was lost in some dark thought that he couldn't escape.

Nevertheless Dean plopped down into the booth and slid the Sunrise across the table. Castiel caught it without even looking.

"Dean," he began solemnly, "do you find me offensive?"

Dean choked mid-swallow. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "What do you mean?"

"I sometimes find that I do not think before I speak. I suppose I never had to before and now, with you, I often find myself…indelicate."

"With me?"

"Yes. You are the only human I talk to."

For some reason Dean felt himself flush. "Well," he cleared his throat, "you're not nearly the dick that all those other angels are if that makes you feel any better. You're a good guy, I think."

Then something else strange happened. The corners of Castiel's mouth lifted and the darkness in his features lit up as bright as the sun. Castiel was smiling. But there was something else far stranger. Dean felt a sudden tenderness rise and swell in his chest, and it settled over him like a warm glow. And he couldn't help but smile back as he was filled with such sudden rapturous joy.

Castiel's lips puckered in his attempt to straighten his face, "Forgive me. I did not mean to touch you so."

And then the warmth was gone as swiftly as snuffing out a candle.

Dean frowned and swallowed against the lump that had grown in his throat, "That some sort of angel mumbo jumbo?"

"You could call it that," Castiel said, as the alcohol bubbled up his throat and made him chuckle. "We can make people feel certain ways when we are feeling particularly strongly about something. I never quite perfected the craft so it slips from me sometimes."

Inordinately fascinated, Dean nodded.

"I will do my best to keep from doing it again."

"It's fine." Dean bit his lip, "Hey Cas?"

"Hm?"

"Did you know that Chuck is writing again?" Why was he bringing this up? He _shouldn't_ be bringing this up.

"He is a prophet of the Lord. Writing is what he is meant to do."

"No, I mean," Dean rubbed his eyes, now wishing he hadn't made all those drinks doubles, "did you know he's getting published again?"

"I was made aware, yes."

"Did you know that you're in them now—in the books?"

Castiel shrugged, "That would make sense."

"You have fans too."

"Fans?"

"People who like you."

The angel smiled again—his cheeks were quite red now that he was on his fourth glass, and he sat much less straight in his seat.

"There are also fans…who like _us_."

"Who like us?"

Dean sighed and rolled his bottom lip under his teeth, "Yeah. Sam told me about it a while ago. Apparently it's called slash. As in me slash you."

"I am afraid I do not follow."

"As in you and me, together…like…intimately." Just saying it sent a strange shiver down his spine.

"Thou shall not lie with a man as with a woman; it is an abomination," Castiel replied, almost robotically.

Dean didn't say anything—he didn't know what there was to be said. And he had so many thoughts whirling around all at once it was a miracle even one had made it out. He suddenly wished it had not been that thought.

Castiel blinked, looking vexed, "That is what is written."

"So…that means it's a sin right?"

"I do not know."

"You don't know?"

"It is not my place to interpret the word of the Lord."

Dean's jaw clenched and he took another drink. "Well what do you _think_, Cas? You were given a brain weren't you? Or is it really all just fluffy clouds and harps up there?"

"There is nothing I should think about it. It is what is written."

"Damnit, Cas—" but Dean stayed his tongue. With a snort of frustration he leaned back in his seat and turned his attention away from the angel.

This was just how it always was. Just when Dean thought Cas was over all this hierarchal bullshit—just when he thought Cas might actually give a shit about something _more_… he would pull something like this, and then it was always back to square one again. Maybe Dean was expecting too much from him; expecting too much human. But there had to be something, because, the eyes that bore into him now were not so unlike his own.

And Dean had no choice but to hope he was right. He was so alone, and he could feel it all pressing in on him till he could scarcely breathe. Who did he have? Who could he trust? Not Sam anymore…not after all that had happened. You couldn't just go back after something like that. Of course there was Bobby, but Bobby was having his fair share of issues these days, and he couldn't talk to Bobby about all the things he used to talk to Sam about. So he held it in…all of it, pushing it down and down and farther still. He could feel something in him ready to snap—he could feel it as real as the cold wet glass under his fingers. And he didn't know what would happen when he finally went off…he didn't want to know.

And then Cas had appeared; back from the dead. Dean didn't know why—maybe it was because Cas had saved him, or maybe it was because Cas seemed to be the only proof that the guy upstairs was actually on his side—but he had come to have a grudging dependence on the angel.

He always seemed to be around these days, and always not quite long enough. If Castiel didn't want to be around him—if he had so much to hide, then why did he keep coming back?

"I think that," Castiel said in a hurried hushed voice, "the human ability to love is one of its most precious gifts and…I cannot believe that God would condemn it."

Dean cast the angel a sidelong glance, "You think love is a gift?"

"Why else would angels envy man?"

Dean held himself very still, aware that his intrigue made him want to turn. "You can't love?"

Castiel shook his head solemnly and leaned over the table towards him. "Not in the same way. For instance, I love you—"

Dean did turn then, his heart giving a violent skip.

"—but I could never be _in_ love with you. I love you as I love all of mankind: as I love God. I could not even begin to imagine what being in love feels like. That is why I envy you."

Dean cleared his throat gruffly, suddenly finding his jacket overly hot and restraining. He put his drink down and began working on shedding his coat, all the while laughing awkwardly. "We sound like a couple of chicks."

Castiel tilted his head like a confused puppy and succeeded in looking just about as cute as one. "Is that a bad thing?"

But of course Dean didn't think Castiel ever looked cute. Only girls thought things were cute. So if he were a girl, maybe he would've thought the angel was kinda cute. Maybe. Luckily Dean wasn't a girl so he didn't have to deal with that problem. He picked back up his drink and took a long swig. Nope.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"You look flushed."

Castiel was leaning forward again, examining him with dark blue eyes, the color of the ocean at night. Dean could only stare back, wishing his mouth hadn't suddenly gone dry, and wishing his shoulder would stop its incessant tingling.

Just then two beer mugs slammed down on the table, causing both men to start. Dean blinked over irately at the intruder.

She was tall, buxom, blue-eyed and blonde—just the type that on most nights would've made Dean's little hunter raise his pistol. Maybe if she had been looking at him it still would've happened that way, but, as it was, she was not looking at him. She was looking at Cas, and Dean had seen that look a thousand times.

"Hello," she said, stretching herself languidly across the table, her blood red lips smiling, "looked like you two boys needed refills."

Castiel smiled back at her, and the way the girl's eyes brightened in return made something under Dean's skin crawl.

"Thank you. That was kind," he replied genuinely, though he cast Dean a dubious sidelong glance.

The girl leaned forward even more, making sure gravity made a point of her best asset. "My name's Cherry."

Dean gave a snort of laughter, "Sorry babe, we're not looking for any hookers tonight."

The blonde turned on him with a nasty glare. Dean grinned smugly in return, liking how her face was much less pretty when it was scrunched up.

"Forgive my friend," Castiel chimed, "he is drunk."

"Not as drunk as you," Dean replied petulantly.

"Hardly."

"Your cheeks are all red."

"So are yours."

"That's just because I have a rosy disposition."

"The color of your skin is not governed by your personality."

"Is too!"

Cherry cleared her throat loudly, calling back the boys attention. Looking at Castiel, this time with purpose, she asked, "Would you like to dance with me?"

Dean had to forcibly down the rest of his drink to keep his temper from flaring. Who did this chick think she was—barging in on them like this? And then asking Cas instead of him! It was one thing for a girl to hit on Sam; Sam needed to get laid every once in a while to loosen the stick lodged in his ass. But Cas? Cas was an _angel_, and besides that, the guy looked like a complete virgin nerd for Christ's sake! Sure Dean had tried to get him laid once, but after seeing him in the future…well he sure as hell would never try that again. And he certainly wasn't going to let some bar whore ruin him either.

"I have never danced before."

_ Good boy, Cas_, Dean nodded, _find an excuse. Excuses are the best way to deal with sluts_.

"Never?" Cherry laughed. Dean thought she had an annoying laugh. "Well I'll teach you then. I'm a great teacher."

Dean rolled his eyes. No way would Cas ever fall for than line.

"All right."

If it had been possible, Dean was sure his jaw would've fallen to the table. He watched, wide-eyed, as the angel rose and took Cherry's offered hand.

"You won't need that coat, love."

_Love?_ Dean bristled.

Castiel removed his trenchcoat and set it back in the booth and, after throwing a cheerful smile at Dean, was led to the dance floor on the other side of the bar. Cherry bent over the jute-box in the far corner, her daisy dukes leaving little to the imagination and her hand still tightly clutching Cas'. Moments later, Finger Eleven's "Paralyzer" screamed out of the old speakers. Cherry turned back towards Castiel with the eyes of a predator as she took the angel by the waist and pulled him towards her. Then suddenly a crowd of people rushed over to the dance-floor and Dean lost them in the mass.

It was then that Dean realized that he no longer wanted mixed drinks, and he certainly didn't want the beers the blonde hoebag had brought over. It was most definitely shot time. Making sure his gaze steered clear of the dance-floor, Dean abandoned the booth and ambled his way up to the bar. By now the bartender was more than familiar with him and without even bothering to ask she went to making his Jack and Coke.

"Whoa hey!" Dean waved her off, "Just give me the straight."

She looked up at him, then at the dance-floor, and then back again, her eyes narrowing. A smirk slowly curled on her lips and after pouring a generous shot she slithered up to the counter. She set the glass down and slid it towards him slowly.

"I see Cherry found your friend."

Dean grimaced and picked up his drink, "She has a reputation around here I'm guessing?"

"Oh yes," the bartender's smile was feral. "She'll pounce on anything that moves, so long as it's pretty."

The first chorus round blared through the bar, and damned it all if the hunter didn't find himself thoroughly pissed all over again. This was all Chuck's fault. He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the damn prophet—well no…it was the fans that really turned everything upside down. Dean looked at the bartender. People like her, who pretended to live normal lives while who knows what ran rampant through their heads. He was trapped by them—made into a spectacle by some _book_.

Dean drained the shot and slammed it down on the bar. "Another." The bartender grabbed the bottle from behind her and poured. They repeated this ordeal two more times.

"Is he not with you?" she asked, pouring again.

"Hm?" Dean's brain admittedly wasn't running on all cylinders.

She tossed her long hair behind her shoulders, "I think you know what I mean."

Glaring, Dean sipped off his fourth shot, "Is it in your job description to be so nosy?"

"Is it in yours to be so stubborn?"

"As a matter of fact," he leaned over the bar and winked, "it is."

"So you're not going to answer my question then?"

"Guess not."

"Oh, I get it" she winked back, "you haven't come out of the closet yet huh?"

Dean sputtered, whiskey spilling unattractively over his lips, "What? No! I mean—I'm not gay! What is up with the world? You people see a gofer hole and make it into a god damn mountain!"

But the bartender wasn't paying attention to him anymore. She was looking over at the dance-floor. Dean hadn't noticed the music had stopped.

"So does that mean you won't mind that Cherry's taking him into the ladies room?"

"What!" Dean's temper flared wildly; he no longer had the sense to hold it back. He spun, his eyes searching frantically and his mind focused on one betraying thought: _my angel_. Without thinking about how crazy this was—without thinking about what anybody would see, or think, or write, or read, and without thinking about what this meant for him—Dean raced towards Castiel.

They got through the door just before he reached them. He heard the door lock but he slammed through it as if it were paper.

"What the hell?" Cherry screamed, gawking, "Get the fuck out!" She made to push him but Dean didn't budge.

His eyes were trained on Castiel, who looked in an utter stupor. His collar was loose and crooked, falling open to expose the tanned skin of his collarbone. His hair was disheveled and his cheeks were flushed, and overall Dean thought he looked a complete mess. He also thought he looked perfect, but he fought hard to keep that thought below the Busty Asian Beauties defense mechanism.

It didn't work, but moreover, at the moment he didn't care.

"Get out!" Cherry yelled again.

"No," Dean replied, his voice low and rumbling. His eyes never left Cas.

Castiel smiled then, and something inside Dean snapped; something that had been waiting for a very long time. It swept through him like a tornado, and it was all Dean could do just to hold on. And suddenly he was moving forward, and grabbing Cas by the shoulders, and crushing their lips together.

He'd never kissed an angel before, nor had he ever heard of anyone who had. Maybe that was because they'd never lived to tell the tale. There was a sudden surge of adrenaline through his system and his heart began beating so hard against his chest he thought it might burst through. And then, in a sharp flash, that feeling was multiplied by infinity and taken into the depths of forever. It was every feeling he'd ever had, crashing together all at once. Waves of electric shivers rushed through him and his skin felt suddenly hot and alive. And then Castiel kissed him back, and Dean knew he had never known the true feeling of being free until now.

Then, unexpectedly, a firm hand was pressed against his chest, pushing him back. Their kiss broke and Dean opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them. Cas was staring up at him, looking confused and strangely pained. Heart still racing, Dean cleared his throat and staggered back as reality crashed over him. Their silence seemed to press in.

What the hell had just happened?

"We're leaving, Cas." Without waiting for a reply, Dean grabbed the angel's forearm and dragged him out of the restroom. He could feel Cherry's eyes following them as they left.

Dean moved quickly, somehow hoping that if he moved fast enough he could outrun what had just happened. Dean was good at running—he'd never been given the option not to be good at it. The problem was, his messes had never been able to follow him before. But now—he couldn't just leave Cas. He wouldn't leave Cas. He refused to. But that meant…that meant he would have to…

They were outside now, and Dean's labored breath came out in heavy clouds of mist. He was still holding onto Cas' arm, and for some reason he couldn't make himself let go.

"Dean?"

Well screw it! Screw Chuck and screw his fans! Screw what they read or wrote or thought! Who were they to sway him? They didn't even know he was real! Well he was done caring about them. After all, look where caring had gotten him.

"Dean?" Castiel started again, tentatively, "Was that a kiss? You kissed me right?"

Dean turned, confused and not knowing where to begin. The problem with not being able to run was that he was going to have to clean this mess up. Only, he was pretty sure that this was so far beyond the fucked-up scale that there was no making it right.

All he could say was, "I'm sorry," and, "I didn't mean to," because that's what he was supposed to say.

He didn't miss the flash of hurt that crossed Castiel's face before he lowered his gaze to the ground. The angel pulled his arm from Dean's grasp.

"You did not mean to. Of course."

Now Dean could honestly consider himself thoroughly confused. This had been a weird night, even for him, but the look on Castiel's face threw him over the edge. He'd seen that look hundreds of times before, on the face of every girl he'd ever kissed goodbye, but seeing it now, on the angel's face, rattled him. And he didn't understand it—why Castiel was looking at him that way, and why it made his chest hurt.

Frankly, he didn't want to understand it. It scared him. It had been so long since he'd felt something—anything. The void in him was dark, empty, and broken. He had long ago given up hope on ever filling it again. It was easier to stay broken. Yet, there was something that held him now; a soft whispering promise that held him captivated.

"Dean," Castiel moved forward suddenly, so close Dean could feel the heat of his breath on his lips, "if I were human…do you think…" Castiel cut off and stepped back abruptly.

Dean released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Forgive me." With a wave of his hand, Castiel's cheeks lost their flush and his clothing straightened into its usual pristine arrangement.

"Cas," Dean breathed, unable to think of anything else to say.

"You are in no condition to drive back to the motel. I will send you back myself."

"Cas, listen, about in there—"

"Don't worry," Castiel's eyes were hard, "you will not remember any of it."

There was a beat of silence, "What?"

"It should not have happened."

"So I screw up and we just forget about it? Cas, you can't just—"

"Is that not what you do? With Sam? With anything?"

Dean said nothing. There were so many things to say—so many things he knew he _should_ say. Like how maybe he didn't want to forget. Like, however messed up it was, when he was with Cas he didn't feel quite so alone anymore. Like how maybe his soul _was_ lost, and maybe he did need someone—an angel—to help him find it again.

But he kept his mouth shut.

He couldn't say it.

"I'll see you soon, Dean."

"Wait, Cas, please," but it was too late; Castiel had already touched him.

* * *

Yay! I really loved writing this! It came so easily to me and of course Dean and Cas are just too much fun!

**Please Review!** It's what keeps me going!


	2. Interlude

**Title**: Touched

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: PG-13 for language and innuendo

**Spoilers**: up to episode 5.5 (though I tried to keep everything vague)

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the CW.

**A/N**: To everyone who reviewed: YOU GUYS ARE SO AWESOME! :) Talk about some pressure though huh? Seeing as literally everyone who reviewed wanted a sequel I've decided to write one. Buuuuut there's good news and bad news. The good news is I've actually decided to make this into a 3 part story (mostly cuz the second part would've been ridiculously long otherwise)...the bad news is that because it's going to be a 3 part there's practically no interaction between Dean and Cas this chapter Q_Q I'M SOOOORRY! But I wanted to make everything as plausible as possible, so I guess this chapter is really dedicated to psychologically dealing with what happened in the last chapter. So I hope it's not too bad? The 3rd part will contain much less angst I promise! But I still wouldn't mind an encouraging review or two? Though I do think everyone was a bit more OOC in this chapter *hides* enjoy...

Recently updated :)

* * *

"Dude are you ok?"

Someone was shaking him by the shoulders. The world seemed to move beneath him, causing him to stumble forward. It was then that Dean realized he was standing.

"Dude? Dean?"

Dean started, blinking rapidly and trying to focus on the blurred figure in front of him. Why did his head hurt so badly? He grimaced as he tasted the familiar sharp tang of whiskey in the back of his throat. Well—he supposed that answered the headache question.

"Dean?"

But no, there was something else wrong. He felt…strange, like he was off kilter somehow.

"Dean!"

"…Sam?" Dean croaked, squinting in his effort to make out his younger brother's face.

"Dean, are you ok?" Sam hoisted Dean up and practically dragged him into the motel room. Once inside he unceremoniously dropped Dean down onto the bed.

Dean shook his head, still trying to get a bearing on his surroundings. Something didn't feel right…he couldn't remember…

"Dean, can you hear me?"

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam sounded more tense than usual.

"What happened?"

"When?"

"Just…tonight." Dean snapped. He was surprised upon finding himself angry. Did he have a reason to be angry?

"Well uh, I was cleaning the artillery while you were supposed to be doing research on our case, but instead you were looking up stuff about um…slash," Sam cleared his throat, "…about you and Cas."

Dean snorted. _That_ part he remembered.

"You got upset and said you were going out for a drink. You left, then Cas called—"

Something like a trigger snapped in Dean's mind, "Cas called?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "he wanted to know where you were."

"Why?"

"He didn't say."

Dean clenched his jaw testily, "Then what?"

"Then a few hours passed and you popped back in. Cas must've sent you back. You look like shit by the way."

"Thanks," Dean threw his younger brother a sarcastic smile.

"Do you not remember going out?" Sam was giving him a hard look, and Dean found he couldn't quite hold it. He looked down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and frowned as his vision blurred and spun.

"I remember…I remember walking out the door and walking to the Impala, and…" but that was it…everything was blank after that. For a moment he wondered if he had simply gotten so drunk that he blacked out, but he immediately threw that notion to the curb. He had blacked out loads of times—more times than he'd ever care to admit—but this was different. When he had blacked out before there were always moments of cognition—sparse and confusing yes—but moments nevertheless. It was never like this. This was just a complete blank; white and glaringly empty, as if his very thoughts had been stripped from his mind.

"Hey, where's your jacket?" Sam asked suddenly.

Dean jerked and looked down at the blue flannel shirt he was wearing, actually seeing it this time. "I…don't know."

Sam's brow creased, "So you don't remember…anything?"

The elder looked at him, his vision still blurred and spinning, "It's strange right?"

"You got _that_ drunk?"

Dean flopped back on the bed, his mind cranking. Time and time again he ran through the night's happenings, but he could never get past the Impala. It felt like something in him had gone missing…something he wouldn't be able to get back. He didn't like that one bit.

"Dean?"

Dean sighed, frustrated and not at all in the mood to talk about it. "Look, Sam, my head hurts like a bitch and I think I wanna just call it a night."

"You know, maybe Cas would—"

"Sam…"

He could practically feel Sam's temper ebbing. "Right well, I'm gonna take a shower. Need anything?"

"I'll be fine."

"Ok, well…good night."

Dean rolled onto his side, burying his face into the crook of his arm and squeezing his eyes shut. "Good night, Sam."

That night, Dean fell asleep to the soft humming of water on porcelain, trying desperately to figure out why he was so angry and why the burn on his shoulder was tingling so.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Castiel only stayed to make sure Dean got through the door, and even then he only watched from a distance. He then spread his wings and flew back to the bar, thinking only of getting the Impala back. If he just stayed focused, everything would be okay.

The chill of the night air seared his cheeks, and tore remorselessly through the thin cotton of his shirt, reminding the angel that he had left his trench coat behind. He would have to go in the bar to retrieve it. For some reason, the thought gave him an odd feeling in his stomach.

He landed in the parking lot and stood for a brief moment, allowing himself to soak in the feeling of the sharp cold air stinging his lungs. Now that he was alone, he found that he was shaking; terrible shivers repeatedly overwhelming his body. But none of it was from the cold, indeed he felt strangely feverish. It was as if his body was coming alive, as it never had before—it was as if something inside him had been awakened that had been sleeping for a very long time. And now that it was awake, he felt—but no…the coat and the car. That was what he was here for.

Shaking his head and heaving a heavy sigh, Castiel re-entered the bar. It was much dimmer than he remembered. He began to weave his way through the crowd, glowering when he found nothing looked familiar. He only prayed he would not cross paths with Cherry. He hadn't liked the way she had looked at him, or the way she had touched him when they'd danced—if what they'd done could actually be considered dancing. It had seemed too…primal to really be called a dance.

When he imagined dancing, he imagined two bodies moving in unison, flowing along the melody of a song. It was a thing of beauty and understanding how to be moved and controlled. It required a mutual respect and trust. If he were to learn to dance, he would want to learn it like that; with someone who understood. But understood what exactly? He didn't quite know.

After his third circle around the perimeter of the bar he finally managed to find the booth.

He reached down to grab his coat and turned to leave, but stopped suddenly. Out of his peripheral he saw a dark lumpy mass in the place Dean had sat not an hour ago. Peering over the table, he saw that it was Dean's leather jacket.

Castiel's lips twitched as a strange sort of nervousness fell over him. Decidedly ignoring it he grabbed the jacket and fled. He was nearly running by the time he got to the door, though from what he couldn't say for certain.

He thought that maybe once he got back outside…but no it didn't get any better. The feeling clung tightly in the pit of his stomach. Shivering, the angel threw on his trench coat, overly aware of the weight of Dean's jacket in his hand and becoming increasingly agitated by it. He looked down at it, wondering with a tightened brow. The fabric was well worn and deceptively soft, and Castiel's acute senses could detect Dean's scent as easily as if he'd just buried his face in it. It was a scent he'd grown accustomed to, familiar with, and even found comforting on rare occasions…like tonight.

Castiel's heart skipped as the scene ran through his mind once more; Dean's soft dry lips pressed against his, hard hands on his shoulders, and a racing heart beating in time with his own. Every time he thought about it, it seemed to happen all over again, and it was electric and thrilling and…frightening. He had never lost himself so completely before. Even now he could feel it happening. It started as a mere fluttering in his stomach, but then it stretched through him like a cord pulled taught and ready to snap. It all raced through him so violently he was sure his skin couldn't contain it all. He'd let it slip into Dean before, and he'd tried with all his might to pull it back, but he simply couldn't, because there was something inside him, buried deep, that no longer wanted to be contained.

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed Castiel spread his wings wide and let the wind take him, still clutching tightly at Dean's leather jacket. Flying was by far his favorite thing to do when he was alone. The feeling of the wind rushing through his feathers and caressing his face made him feel calm. There was a tranquil simplicity in flying—in letting the wind carry him across an endless sky.

Tonight, however, proved itself to be completely different. Tonight the wind did not calm him, nor did it soothe his shaken nerves. His mind was racing furiously and he altogether felt like he had never felt before. Angels weren't human, even when they took human vessels. They didn't get nervous, they didn't feel fear, or guilt, or remorse, or confusion. At least…he'd never met one who had. So why was this happening to him? Why was he being ripped at the seams over a human—savior of the world though Dean may be—but a human nevertheless? Was it because he rebelled? Did being cut off from Heaven make him less of an angel? Or was it just Dean that was doing this to him? Would it—_could _it have felt the same with anyone else?

Questions brought on questions brought on more, and within an hour Castiel's mind was whirling over so many thoughts his vision was spinning. Feeling much too faint to fly anymore, the angel landed in a chapel in one of the larger cities in northern Germany. Luckily enough for him the sanctuary was empty for he hadn't bothered to check prior to landing, as was protocol.

Castiel sank down into one of the old pews, focusing on his breathing and attempting to calm his nerves by doing the thing that comforted him when nothing else would: reciting scriptures.

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you or forsake you."

He'd always thought that Dean was strong and courageous.

Castiel frowned and concentrated harder.

"Set a guard, O Lord over my mouth; keep watch over the door of my lips. Do not incline my heart to do any evil thing, to practice wicked works with men who work iniquity; and do not let me eat their delicacies."

But where was evil defined…and how? By God? By Lucifer? Both maybe? Could evil be concealed in love—in a kiss? He had never thought to question…maybe…if he had just—

Castiel bit his lip hard, reigning in his mind once more.

"You hold my eyelids open; I am so troubled that I cannot speak. I have considered the days of old, the years of ancient times. I call to remembrance my song in the night; I meditate with in my heart and…"

That was when he heard it; the soft fluttering of violin strings and the delicate ringing of a piano. In ran through him like an icy chill so that all over his skin quivered with feeling. Castiel stood, somehow pulled by the siren of the song. It was close—not more than two blocks away.

The angel let the sound lead him outside. It was still snowing here, and the downy white coating made the deserted street seem serene and muted. The music rose and pulled him harder. Castiel turned and his feet began to carry him, faster and faster until he racing forward, wings stretched out in eagerness to fly. But he wouldn't fly. His heart was pounding and his lungs burned from the frost but something in him was desperate to stay grounded. A wild sort of abandon swept though him, cold and hard as the wind, and he felt that if he just kept moving—if he just kept running there was nothing that could ever catch him…not even himself.

The violins pulsed, bringing Castiel to a crashing halt. He stood just outside a large domed building with windows that burned with inviting light and promising warmth. Castiel scaled the steps leading to the entrance two at a time, and pulled at one of the large ancient doors, unable to deny his feeling of trepidation laced with longing.

The moment the door opened the song fell upon him like a wave, notes curling down his ears and gripping his heart. He was lost in it now. It was beautiful and sad and called him with gentle floating notes that seemed to sing the very song of his soul. Entranced, the angel made his way down the luxuriously carpeted side hall until he came upon another door. With a shaking hand, Castiel opened it.

Inside was dark and his eyes took a moment to adjust. Once they did, he saw that he was in a ballroom. Tables covered in black cloth and blood red roses encircled a large wooden dance floor, where every member of the room's attention was inexorably focused.

There, standing in the center of the glassy wooden floor was a man and a woman—they were dancing. Castiel leaned back against the nearest wall, his eyes glued on the couple, and was thankful no one paid him any mind. Though he very much thought Lucifer himself could've torn through the hall and not a person would've have turned to glance.

The music rose again, flowing like a stream that seemed to carry the dancers right along with it. How fluidly they moved together…how effortlessly: their bodies white and gleaming in the spot light and pressed together in a seamless twining of limbs. It was simply grace and song in unison—the song was in them and they were in the song.

The angel distantly mused; how long had it taken the man and the woman to dance like that? What sort of familiarity did they have? What sort of trust? For when the woman moved, she moved fully and without hesitation, as if a fumble or misstep by her partner wasn't even a possibility. The music carried them and it would not let them fall.

That infallible trust—he used to have it too, and perhaps just as effortlessly. He couldn't remember really, not with everything screwed up the way it was. Dean had been his last latch of the faith he'd been so desperate to keep hold of. But then there were emotions…and now there were secrets. He would now have to guard himself against the one person he'd ever let his guard down for. But it couldn't be helped. This was the way it had to me. He had to make Dean forget.

The dancers twirled and dove into a fantastic lift with effortless grace.

Leaving Dean with that sort of situation to deal with—no good could have come from it, only regret, or another weakness the Winchesters couldn't afford. And if that meant he had to bear the burden of knowing alone, he would do it. It was his duty to do it. He wanted to do it…for Dean.

Maybe, had be been human…oh the double-edged sword of that thought. How fitting it was that he was always the watcher, looking through opaque glass at those who danced. To fall—to break though the glass with full force—there was no doubting that there were times he longed for it. All he really wanted was to be free, as Dean was free. He wanted to know what it felt like. He wondered sometimes, if the other angels came to strip him, if he would even put up a fight.

He could have done it himself of course. Every now and then he would find himself standing on the edge of the abyss, his toes just over the ridge and the wind whipping wildly at his back. Always he smelled excitement on the air, electric and untamable and finite. Mortality. Because that was what made humans so beautiful: their mortality. Knowing that every moment brought them one step closer to death, knowing that there would never be a time for them other than _now_, made them live a life that was tragic, yes, but always beautiful. He had never pitied humanity's mortality.

Yet, still, he never jumped, nor would he ever mean to. What use would he be as a human? He would be weak, hungry, needy—just another useless pathetic bystander. Being an angel…that was his only use. What did the Winchester brothers want or need from him besides his power and knowledge? Nothing. Or at least that's what he had always thought…before tonight.

Now he wasn't so sure.

He sometimes wondered, in the too brief steeled glances Dean cast him when he thought the angel wasn't looking, if there might be something more. There was some hidden depth of warmth—he felt it deep in his stomach whenever the elder Winchester got near. At first, Castiel hadn't known what it meant, but he had known that he liked the way Dean looked at him; and he liked the way Dean spoke to him and allowed him to speak back; and he liked how right it all felt. That's why he'd gone to Dean in the first place. He felt safe with Dean and, when he was with him…he didn't feel so alone.

So why did it have to be wrong? Why did he still have his brothers' voices in the back of his head, judging him; berating his every move? What power did the other angels have over him? What right?

The world was already cold and broken enough; people who hated; people who simply didn't try. Wasn't love what the world needed? Wasn't that what he'd always been taught? So if Dean kissed him…if Dean—Castiel swallowed against the lump in his throat—loved him in any way, then wasn't running away from that wrong somehow, especially…especially if he loved Dean in return?

Castiel blinked dazedly, feeling suddenly short of breath, as if he'd taken a hard hit to the chest. _Love._ The word had felt different just then. His heart suddenly quickened and he felt a burst of fluttering nerves fly all over him.

Never before had he felt anything quite like it, and as such he didn't know what to think. What he did know was that he didn't want to be here anymore—what he did know was that the weight of Dean's jacket in his hands felt comforting and right and as he breathed he found the smell called to him.

Without even thinking about his possible exposure, Castiel spread his wings and took off. His wings beat furiously against the fabrics of air and time. He couldn't remember ever flying so fast. He was upon the motel within moments and he soared down into the room, landing lightly on his feet with the supple grace only an angel could possess.

There was a moment then, there standing in the dark, where the silence seemed to press in and the stillness hung over him, heavy and looming, giving him the very real sense that he was totally and completely alone. Then he saw Dean, and the feeling vanished in a breath. The elder Winchester lay in front of him on the bed, curled up on his side with his head nested in the crook of his arm. He hadn't even stirred when Cas had flown in. Cautiously, Castiel approached the bed, his head tilted in silent reverie. How innocent he looked here—now, with his face so serene and his expression so soft. A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth suddenly, and Castiel distantly wondered what Dean dreamed.

The angel leaned in closer, inhaling deeply that familiar scent—the scent he'd come to know as home. With one hand, Castiel reached out towards him, his fingers gracing over the downy soft tuft of hair. He didn't know why he did it exactly—he had just moved, natural and unthinking. And there it was again; that warm fleeting feeling that bubbled restlessly in his stomach. He wanted so badly for it to be right…and he had never known himself to want anything before.

"Cas?" Dean's voice was barely a whisper as he nuzzled his face into Castiel's palm and hummed contently.

Castiel stood for a frozen second, his heart pounding so hard he was sure the noise of it would wake both Winchesters at any moment. This…this was what made Dean so different, because being with him made him feel…human.

And then an idea struck him—a way to fix all of this.

Lingering for but a moment, Castiel gingerly pulled his hand back, enjoying the warmth that still held to it. "Sleep now," the angel whispered softly, "I'll make everything right."

Barely lifting his wings, Castiel was outside once more and flying away, only this time he knew where he was going. Folding Dean's jacket up in his arms and clutching it tightly to his chest, the angel sped forward. He landed this time with far less discretion, and papers flew in a wild rustle around the room.

"Chuck," Castiel moved towards the smaller man, "I need to speak with you."

Chuck, who was currently on his hands and knees on his couch, hovering over a horrified looking Becky, looked at him with a blank sort of shock.

"Castiel?" he slowly moved off of Becky and stood, attempting to deftly zip up his fly in the process. It got stuck halfway up and after a couple hearty attempts the prophet finally gave up. "Is everything all right? I haven't seen anything about Dean and Sam that—"

"The Winchesters are fine. But I need to speak with you about Dean."

"Fine, let's just—uh—step into the kitchen shall we? I'll be back, Beck. Don't leave ok?"

The young girl nodded and Castiel noticed her face had grown very red and that she had taken to coming her fingers repeatedly through her tousled hair. He was just about to ask if she was all right when Chuck grabbed him by the arm and dragged him from the room, pulling him into the kitchen.

"Dude!" Chuck hissed as soon as they were out of earshot, jerking abruptly around to face him. Judging by the look on his face, Castiel could tell he had done something wrong…again.

"You can't just drop in and freak me out like that! Ever heard of a phone?"

"I have, yes," Castiel replied truthfully.

"Well I was trying to make a move!"

The angel paused, thinking, "I did not see that you were moving when I came in. Where are you moving to?"

Sighing deeply, Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and grimaced, "Castiel, it's 3 o'clock in the morning…I'm not moving anywhere."

"Oh," Castiel replied, confused now and not wanting to veer off topic, "well I am happy you are staying then."

Groaning, Chuck scuffed over to a cabinet and pulled down two glasses and a half-empty bottle of brandy. Not bothering with ice, he poured two generous servings.

The angel eyed the glasses warily. "I think I have had enough of alcohol for one night."

"No, these are both for me," Chuck said, cracking a smile for the first time that evening. "I just didn't want to bother with pouring twice."

"Oh."

Chuck capped the brandy and placed it back in the cabinet. He took a long drink before he finally set the glass back down and asked, "Much better. Now what did you say you needed again?"

"Did you foresee Dean kissing me?"

The muscles in Chuck's neck tightened and his skin darkened in a flush, informing Castiel of the brazenness of his question. But for once, he wanted to be that way.

"If—if you're talking about what happened in the bar…then yes I saw."

For some reason this knowledge made Castiel's stomach do a small flip—that someone else had been able to intrude on something so…intimate. The angel pushed this feeling down and stepped forward.

"I need to know what happens next."

Chuck bit his lip and swallowed, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I need to know what to do."

The prophet took another long swig and lowered his gaze. "Castiel…what do _you_ want to do?"

For Castiel, everything seemed to suddenly go still. Want? _Him_?

"It does not matter what I want, not if Dean—"

"It does," Chuck's voice was soft but sharp, "you're the one who wanted him to forget. You were there—he didn't want to. You put the ball in your court."

There was a long pause, "I can not make that kind of decision."

"Why not?"

"Because I do not understand what is happening to me!" Castiel staggered back. He rarely yelled, and the force of it made him feel suddenly winded. But something else was hitting him hard. His face felt indescribably hot and his beating heart felt constricted and strained in his chest.

Chuck finished his first glass and slid it back across the counter. He was looking at Castiel with a sorrowful sort of understanding. "Think, Castiel. You know what's happening to you."

"So you know?" Castiel said in a breathless whisper.

"You do too. Think."

Castiel thought, but he didn't know where to begin, so he started with the first thought that came to him: flying through Hell. Of all thoughts, he didn't know why it was that one, yet that was the one that came. He had never been to Hell before that. Understandably it was not a place that angels chose to frequent, but he had been given a mission; he out of all the others had been chosen. For some reason he had never bothered to wonder why they had chosen _him_, but he supposed it hardly mattered now.

He could remember flying through the darkness, fear and pain ripping at his wings and agony screaming in his mind. But even more he could remember the moment he saw Dean; the moment he reached him; how everything had dropped away and Dean's soul had surrounded him in a bright piercing light.

Castiel knew Dean didn't remember, but the moment they first touched, Dean had said one word:

"_Please_."

And if this feeling he had now had started anywhere, it had started in that word. It was longing laced with pain and tangled in defeat. Something in it had struck the cords of Castiel's heart—knowing that no holy power could ever heal that kind of hurt. It was a wound that went too deep, and when Dean said that word, the angel had felt a tiny part of it pour into him, as if Dean's soul simply couldn't contain it all. It was a wound he thought he would never understand how to heal. But…that never meant he didn't want to try.

He remembered the first time they had met in flesh. How different things had been back then—how callous they were.

He remembered the first time Dean had called him Cas.

And the first time he'd seen Dean smile.

And the first time Dean had smiled at him.

Being questioned.

The first inkling of doubt.

How vivid it all still was. Those first feelings; he remembered how close he had held them, kindling them like a small precious flame.

But then the flame has blossomed.

Talking—

Confusion.

Fighting—

Anger.

Betrayal—

Guilt.

Rebellion—

Freedom.

Everything had come so fast he could hardly control it all. He had been swept up in the flame that had started a wildfire. And he didn't know why—he didn't know _why_ he was feeling these things. He had been at peace once, he knew, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't remember what it felt like. Too much had happened, and he knew there was no going back.

But what did that mean? What did Chuck think he knew?

The kiss.

_Dean._

It hit him like a cold gust of wind, "I am…becoming human."

Chuck's head rolled to the side tiredly, "Yeah."

"But…how can I—that cannot be…" Castiel trailed off, somehow unable to continue.

"It was your choice, and whether you've come to terms with it or not you've already chosen him. And if you ask me, I think you made the right decision—don't know what the fans will say though. I think they'll be happy. Some of those angels are a bit cookoo for coco puffs if you know what I mean."

"I do not," the angel replied absently.

"Look," Chuck sighed again, "do you love him?"

"I…do not know."

"Well don't you want to find out instead of complaining to me about it?"

"But—"

"If you're worried about giving him his memories back, don't worry, you did a lousy job making him forget. He dreamt the whole thing last night."

Castiel's breath caught in his throat, "He did?"

"Yup."

"So…what do I do?"

"Well, whatever you do I hope it's far away from here. Becky and I were kind of in the middle of something I'd like to get back to."

"Right." Castiel nodded, feeling for the first time that evening, oddly numb.

Chuck drained the last dregs of his second glass. "Well…what're you waiting for anyway?"

"Huh?"

Smiling, Chuck tipped his head and began walking back towards the living room, "By the way, you're still holding Dean's jacket…did you know?"

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

The next morning he woke to the inviting smell of a bacon, egg, and cheese mcmuffin, and his mouth reflexively watered. Dean stretched, arching his back and delighting in the strenuous pull on his muscles.

Groaning, he pushed himself up and blinked groggily. He was still caught in the haze of an incredibly unsettling dream—he hardly even remembered falling asleep. Shaking his head distractedly he threw his feet over the edge of the bed and stood.

"Hey, Cas called this morning."

Dean was suddenly quite awake. It took a moment for it all to come back, but when it did it came with a resounding crash. Distinguishing between what happened and the dream that still lingered over him, however, was a different matter. Last night…he had forgotten…

"He said," Sam continued, in between stuffing his mouth with breakfast sandwiches, "that he left your jacket in the Impala. Apparently he brought your car back, same way he brought you. He asked how you were by the way."

"He…asked how I was?" For some reason Dean thought this should strike him as odd even though it didn't.

"Yeah," bits of biscuit crumbled over Sam's lips, "told him you got so plastered you couldn't remember a thing—but then I guess he already knew that since he was the one who sent you back. How're you feeling by the way?"

"Uh, fine," Dean replied distractedly. In his dream last night, he'd been in a bar with Cas.

"Still don't remember anything?"

Dean furrowed his brow, thinking. "Yeah," he placed a hand to his cheek, trying to understand the ghosting caress that still warmed it.

It had felt…but no, that was ridiculous. It was just a dream…yet even so there was an unsettling nervousness coursing through him that he just couldn't seem to shake. There was something off about all of this—about last night, and about that dream—and Dean was hardly in the mood to puzzle over it. He would simply go to the source, call Cas, ask what exactly happened last night and that would be the end of it.

Resolved, Dean grabbed his cell phone and scrolled down his contacts list until he found Cas' name. The small black text blinked at him, intimidating.

Distantly he heard Sam ask who he was calling, but Dean's thumb had already pressed the send button and he was too busy wondering why his heart had begun to race to worry about answering his little brother's questions. He put the phone up to his ear.

It rang once. Then again.

"Dean?"

A soft tremor shook Dean's chest, "Cas?"

* * *

So ya I hope that wasn't too bad of a cliffhanger? The 3rd part is in progress right now...but with my job and classes I dunno exactly how soon I can finish it! I hope this chapter wasn't too horrible...and yes I know this is all supposed to take place before 5.5 but I wanted to throw Becky in just cuz I thought she did a good job of representing everyone's inner fan girl. :3

And if you review I swears the next part will get posted faster :D


	3. Taken

**Title**: Touched

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: PG-13 for language and innuendo

**Spoilers**: up to episode 5.5 (though I tried to keep everything vague)

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the CW.

**A/N**: So to all the reviewers: YOU TOTALLY ROCK! And I'd like to send a special thanks out to **A Heart on my Hand** , **quiero queso** , **Nyah86** , **Nath2704** , **Lumiere88**, and **Taya** for reviewing both parts and for being so encouraging along the way (If I missed anyone I'm sorry! But trust me you're greatly appreciated). You guys are way too nice!

In case you didn't know already, this is the third and final part to **Touched** and to be honest is was by far the hardest to write. But I guess that's what happens when you never plan your stories out before you write them lol. Of course my heavy homework load probably didn't help much either. Soooo some people may not be exactly happy with the way this fic ends...enjoy!

* * *

"Cas?" Dean's heart was pounding wildly. He cleared his throat, twice, "Yeah, um…Sam said you called this morning."

"I did."

There was an excessively long awkward moment of silence. "Yeah," Dean bit his lip. He had already begun to pace and he was overly aware that Sam seemed to be watching him. "So…apparently I had a pretty wild drinking night last night." He tried to smirk, though it came out more like a mangled grimace.

"I think that would depend on your definition of wild."

"So…you were there then?"

"I was."

Dean frowned as his stomach did an uncomfortable flip, "For how long?"

"…From the moment you cannot remember till the moment you can."

For a moment there was nothing but the soft hissing of static in Dean's ear.

"What?"

"You are calling because you have no memory of last night correct?"

"Yes."

"You do not remember because I erased your memory."

The world seemed to suddenly rock beneath Dean's feet. Anger came upon him in a wave, "And here I was, hoping I just had a good time last night," Dean couldn't help the hardness in his tone. "Silly me, huh?"

He heard the angel sigh heavily, "Look, Dean…I am out in the Impala. Would you come outside?"

"Why don't you just come in here?" Dean questioned, feeling he had a right to be suspicious.

"Is Sam there?"

Dean cast a sidelong glance at his younger brother and frowned, "Yeah, so?"

"There are some…more private matters I would like to discuss."

"Like what?"

"I would like to discuss those things with you in person," Cas' tone had become hardened as well.

"Uh-huh. And how am I supposed to trust you won't wipe my mind again, Cas? You know," Dean laughed halfheartedly, "I really did think you were different…from Uriel and Zachariah and all those other sons of bitches. Guess I was wrong." He knew it was a low blow—he could practically feel the angel's flinch.

"Dean…"

Dean heard Castiel's voice and immediately regretted what he'd just said. He didn't know why exactly. After all, he had every right to be mad at the angel—he'd had his mind wiped for Christ's sake! If that didn't cross some kind of major boundary then he didn't know what did.

But…there had been something in Cas' voice just then—some depth of feeling he'd never heard there before.

Dean's mouth twitched in confusion, "I'll be out there in a minute." He hung up without waiting for a reply.

Sam was still staring at him.

"What?" Dean snapped out of frustration, but not towards Sam. He was frustrated because his hands had started shaking and he didn't know why.

"So…does he know what happened?"

"I should say so," Dean sat on the bed and pulled on his boots, not bothering to tie them, "_he's_ the one who made me forget."

Sam visibly stiffened. "Why?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"You think…something happened?"

Dean paused, "Like what?"

"Well, there had to be a reason for him to wipe your memory right? We know Cas. He wouldn't just do something like that for no reason."

The elder brother stood, humming thoughtfully. Why, was the question indeed. Why, was the question that was pissing him off.

Gathering his resolution, Dean made his way towards the door, nodding at Sam as he left, "I'll be back."

"Dean, be careful not to—"

But the door had already shut behind him. Shivering from the morning cold, Dean scanned the parking lot. He found the Impala in the exact spot he remembered parking it. And there, sitting in the passenger seat, was the shadow of an angel.

Dean walked briskly, not wanting to stop lest he begin to wonder why his stomach was tying itself in knots. When he reached the car, he opened the driver's side door and slid into the seat. The door closed with a resounding slam, which only seemed to intensify the silence that followed.

Dean stared at the steering wheel for a long moment, unable to turn.

"Why'd you do it, Cas?" Dean's voice was low and rumbling.

He felt more than saw the angel shift closer and he stiffened reflexively.

"Dean…what did you dream last night?"

Dean looked over at him then—he was close; closer than Dean was completely comfortable with, but for some reason he didn't pull back. Steam billowed from Castiel's mouth as he breathed, heating Dean's face and tickling his nose and lips.

"What's it to you?" he didn't sound quite as stern as he would've liked. He couldn't help it. His nerves were all a flight, like his body was reacting to something his mind didn't know.

Castiel's gaze was piercing and his expression strained. "Did you dream of me?"

"What, are you spying on my dreams now?"

"Did the kiss not feel real?"

Dean felt his cheeks bloom with heat. How could he have known…unless—a stone dropped in the pit of his stomach.

"That—was that real? Cas—"

But Cas' fingers were already on his forehead, and something akin to electricity lanced down Dean's spine as memories slammed into his mind—bright and ruthlessly vivid.

Walking to the car.

Cas suddenly at his side.

The bar.

Drinks.

Talking.

More drinks.

Cherry.

The inexplicable emotion that had risen in his chest—a feeling that had no right or reason to arise, yet there it had been, as clear and undeniable as the feeling that raced through him now.

The kiss.

Dean flinched back and everything went suddenly still. He opened his eyes to find that Castiel was already looking at him, his blue gaze shining with an unfamiliar fear.

"Do you remember?" the angel sounded half hopeful that he didn't.

Dean bit his lip and tasted a cool freshness that hadn't been there before. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like a hammer in his chest. He knew he should be thinking something—anything—but he couldn't. He could scarcely breathe. The only thing he knew now, at this very moment, was the soft tingling of the burn on his shoulder.

"Dean?"

Dean started, inhaling sharply.

"Cas…did we really…did I really…"

"Yes. You kissed me."

"So you made me forget," Dean whispered, half to himself.

"I thought you would want to forget. It is only my own selfishness that brings me here now. Because…I have to know."

"Know what?" Dean said, the words spilling over his lips without thought.

"Why you kissed me."

This wasn't real. This couldn't be happening. It had all just been a dream. He could be okay with it if it was only a dream—well…mostly okay. He knew that Cas was important to him—that was something he'd come to terms with. Cas had saved him…in more ways than one. But it couldn't run that deep. It couldn't be real. If it was real, then it meant he'd let go of something he'd sworn he'd never release: his emptiness. Last night he had let go of it—he had admitted to himself that maybe…he needed someone to help put the pieces back together.

But why Cas? Because there had to be a reason why it was him. Why not Jo? Why not Anna? Why not Lisa, or any other girl he'd met along the way? Had things been different, he knew he could've been happy with them…any of them.

"Dean? Do you remember when we were outside…and I started to say something to you, about being human?"

But the truth of the matter was, things weren't different. He wasn't some chummy guy living the apple pie life. Maybe he could've been…but he wasn't. His life wasn't normal. _He_ wasn't normal. He'd accepted that a long time ago, as well as the price tag that came along with it.

That was why he never really got close to girls. He knew that keeping them at arms length did more than just save them…it saved him too.

Maybe that was how Cas had slipped past him. Dean had never thought to hold him back. The angel was someone he confided in—someone who he'd never even thought twice about letting in close. Before Cas…well…he'd never realized how truly alone he'd felt.

"I am becoming human, Dean."

Dean blinked as Castiel's words pulled him back to reality.

"What?" he breathed.

"I am becoming human." The angel repeated.

"Cas, if those angel bastards—"

"No, Dean," Cas gave a weary smile, "I chose this."

For a short moment, Dean found himself speechless.

"What? Forgive me if I point out that the tune you're singing is a bit different from last night."

"…I do not recall singing." Castiel tilted his head perplexedly.

Dean tried not to think about how the angel's face was angled just so, that if Dean were to simply lean forward—his eyes flickered down briefly despite himself.

"How then?" Dean said, hoping that speaking would reign in his mind and cure his curious case of cottonmouth.

"You."

Each of them leaned forward almost imperceptibly, as if some magnetic force was pulling them together. The heat of their breath mingled and stirred the cool still air.

"You're becoming human…because of me?"

"Yes."

Dean swallowed thickly, "Why? Because of …?"

"Of course not," Castiel said, his brow deeply furrowed, "I am sure the process had started before that."

"Before, like when?"

"Of that I am not sure."

"How can you not be sure?"

"Because I did not even know it was happening until last night."

Dean huffed, "Yeah, because that makes a whole lot of sense."

"I feel like you should be used to things that do not make sense," the angel replied, the ghost of a smile curling his lips.

Dean hardly found the situation humorous. "Yeah well…even given my low standards for what normal is, this hasn't exactly been the most normal twenty four hours I've ever had."

"So, you do want to forget then?"

"I didn't say that!"

"It sounded like you were about to."

"Then stop putting words in my mouth!"

"They were already there!"

Dean didn't know if he'd ever heard Cas yell before. Nor had he ever seen such flares of emotion dance through those stormy eyes. He didn't know how to feel about it…much less what to think.

"You really are becoming human?"

They were both breathless now, their lungs strained from yelling and their pulses flying from something more.

The angel looked down, suddenly seeming to find interest in a worn crack in the leather seat. "Dean," he began slowly, his face stretched in a heavy frown, "every moment I spend with you, I discover a part of myself I never knew existed. Everything is so different from before, but I feel warm and alive, and if all that means I have to give up my grace…then so be it. That life is nothing to me…I do not want it anymore."

"Cas…you can't make a decision like that—not for me."

"Why not?"

"Because I won't let you."

"That is not a reason, Dean."

"It's not worth it, Cas!" Dean snapped, feeling his temper heat his skin, "I've seen you in the future and I've seen you as a human, and there was nothing warm and fuzzy about it. It—it was like I looked at you and it wasn't _you_ there anymore."

Castiel's mouth pressed into a hard thin line. "The future is never set."

"Yeah? Well what about with my mom and dad and the yellow-eyed demon? That's not what you said when you sent me back to them."

"That was different."

"How?" Dean seethed.

"Your parents had a destiny yes, and yes I thought it was something they could not escape and maybe that is true. But you had a destiny too—to be Michael's vessel—and you went against your fate."

For a moment, Dean's words failed him. He tried not to think about why, because for some reason he feared it was because of the way Cas was looking at him now, like he was seeing something that Dean was quite sure he'd never seen in his own reflection.

Dean shook his head broodingly, "That doesn't mean anything, Cas."

"Dean!" If it was possible—and apparently it was—Castiel leaned in closer, and if Dean had ever before felt that his personal space was invaded, it was nothing compared to now. Not that he wasn't used to Cas doing such things. Or at least he had been before…last night. Now there was a strange warmth that seemed to fly all over him, as if to inform him that the angel was near.

"Before you, any angel could have looked into a thousand futures and never seen that happen. You defied Michael. You made me believe that something I had never thought possible, could happen."

"Well I couldn't just let him wear me like a meat suit!"

"Yes you could have. But you did not. Do you not understand what that means?"

"No, I don't," Dean barked, "and frankly I'd appreciate it if you gave me a bit of room to breathe."

Castiel immediately retreated far back in his seat, his expression revertingly stoic. "I am sorry."

Dean couldn't look at him anymore, not with his mind racing as it was. He could feel Cas watching him, waiting for something Dean was half sure would never come. How could it? Dean knew what Cas thought he wanted. It was the same as all the others.

Someone to look up to…someone to love.

If only they knew that was someone Dean wasn't…and someone he could never be. If only they knew what it was _he_ saw when he looked in the mirror—the pain, the guilt, the revulsion. It was the constant shadow that hung just beneath his smile. He remembered his muddied drunken thoughts at the bar about being broken…about admitting that maybe Cas could be the one who could—Dean shook his head. So what? That meant he was supposed to let Cas dive in headfirst?

It would cost Cas everything. _Everything_. It had already cost him too much, and…there were some things that were just too broken to ever be fixed. So if Cas failed, then what? Just another tally mark of guilt of beautiful things he'd destroyed?

Dean gave a sudden wry smile. Beautiful. He supposed he could call Cas that. He was an angel after all. _Was_…

He looked at Castiel then, his throat tight with some unnamed emotion. "This whole becoming human thing, can you reverse it? I mean, you're not human yet right?"

Castiel's expression darkened, "No, I am not a human yet, but I do not think it is something that can be reversed. Chuck said that—"

"When did you see Chuck?"

"Last night."

"You went to see Chuck _last night_?"

"Yes," Cas seemed confused. "But I advise if you want to do the same that you should call first. He did not seem very happy."

Dean gave a frustrated sigh, "Why did you go to see him?"

Castiel blinked, "To ask about you." He said it as if it were to most obvious thing in the world, with absolutely no hesitation, and even less tact.

But that was Cas—that was the way he was—he never said anything but what he thought, straight and to the point. And he always meant what he said, as if lying was truly beneath him somehow. It was a trait Dean never realized he appreciated until now. Words could be easily twisted, and after dealing with demons for so long, well, the truth was like water to a parched tongue.

"Did…he tell you anything?"

But why was he thinking about this anyway? What did it matter if Cas never lied to him? He was an angel…maybe angels couldn't lie. Well no, he knew better than that.

"He told me I have to make my own choice."

Castiel's words seemed to snap Dean out of his reverie. "So he saw everything?"

"He did."

_Shit._

"Are you alright?"

What if Sam found out? For some reason that was the first thought that came to his mind.

Dean buried his face in his hands and sighed heavily. He ran his fingers up and over his face and tangled them in his hair, clenching tightly for a painful second before letting his arms drop. He barely realized he was now staring at the motel room door.

"What have we gotten ourselves into, Cas?"

"The end of the world it seems."

Dean sighed again, feeling his breath tremor as he released it. His chest felt heavy, like there was a weight pressing in. There had been plenty of times where he'd been stuck—where he hadn't known what to do next because no matter what was done, something else was just going to get fucked up in the end.

To forget, or not to forget. Those were the choices. All this trouble and strain…and over such a small thing too. Only…he supposed it wasn't so small anymore. Not if Cas was…becoming human.

For some reason he couldn't quite wrap his mind around that thought—around the how and the why. Because it didn't make any sense for Cas to do something like that. At least, it didn't make any sense that he was doing it for _him_. If it was for other reasons, maybe. Like Anna—that had made sense to him…the whole daddy issues thing. He may have thought it was stupid, but at least he understood it. But Cas didn't have those issues…not like Anna did. He was the only one who still thought God could get them out of this whole mess.

"Dean?"

But then again…Dean supposed he'd never really asked how Cas felt.

"Can I take us somewhere?"

Dean only had a moment before an overwhelming wave of warmth rushed over him. He felt Cas' hand on his shoulder and an all too familiar sharp tug pulled at his stomach. Within a blink Dean found himself standing in the dark and the crisp musk of wilted roses filling his nostrils.

"I'm sorry," Cas' voice starkly contrasted the surrounding silence, "I am still not very good with enclosed spaces for prolonged periods of time. It reminds me of—well…now is not exactly the time to talk about that."

"Where are we?" Dean asked, blinking repeatedly as if it would speed the process of his eyes adjusting to the sudden dark. He staggered back, still shaky on his feet, and was surprised when two hands caught him firmly by the shoulders. It wasn't that he hadn't known Cas was there—actually Dean had always found it a little creepy that he could always tell when the angel was at his back. It was like this little jolt down his spine and an acute pull in his chest, not to mention the soft whispers of electricity that prickled at his shoulder.

No, what surprised him was the sudden gust of hot breath on the back of his neck, and the velvet fire of Cas' hands against his skin. Dean leapt forward and twisted around, his heart hammering like thunder in his chest.

He could barely see Cas frown, "Are you alright? I did not mean to hurt you if I did."

"I'm fine," Dean was startled when his voice echoed loudly around him. "Where are we, Cas?" he asked again.

"Somewhere in Germany. I do not recall the name of the city, though to be honest I probably could not pronounce it even if I did."

"Germany? What the hell are we doing in Germany?"

Dean's eyes were starting to adjust now to the glow of the lone light above. Castiel stood not three feet away, staring into the darkness with a forlorn glimmer in his eyes. He stood so silently and so still, like a statue carved out of time, and for a wavering moment everything beyond the angel disappeared from Dean's mind. He saw that Cas' fists were clenched and that his jaw kept tensing, as it always did when he was concentrating—something Dean apparently knew without even having to think about it.

"I was here earlier tonight," Cas said, his voice softer than usual. "There was a performance going on then—a dance. And, while I was watching…I thought…I thought…" he trailed off, still staring into the darkness.

Something about that look didn't sit well with Dean. He took a hesitant step forward.

"Cas…you okay?"

Castiel looked at him then, and Dean was caught. His body went suddenly and inexplicably hot, in an altogether unsettlingly familiar feeling.

"I thought about…what it would be like to be with someone."

Dean couldn't deny the flush that rushed into his cheeks. He cleared his throat, only becoming more uncomfortable as the sound echoed loudly around the hall, "I don't think this is exactly the time to talk about sex, Cas—though I suppose daddy dearest never gave you _the talk_ did he. I'd hate to spoil his fun."

It was Castiel's turn to flush, "I—that is not what I meant."

Hearing the angel stutter almost pulled a smile from Dean—almost.

"Well that saves us both a world of awkwardness then."

"And besides, I already know what sex is."

"Yeah, didn't need to know that, Cas."

"Oh," Castiel licked his lips, "I am sorry."

Dean looked away quickly, and shoved his hands in his pockets to hide his discomfort.

"What I was talking about was how you and Sam are." Apparently Cas wasn't fazed by Dean's attempt to lighten the mood, "You love Sam."

"He's my brother." The statement stood for itself.

"Not all brothers are as you two are."

Dean shrugged. His relationship with Sam wasn't exactly standing on solid ground these days, but he didn't have to explain that to Cas. Cas probably already knew.

"I thought you wanted to talk about last night."

"Has there ever been anyone else?" Cas' mouth was set hard and firm.

Dean tried his best to swallow his frustration, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Why would I ask if it did not matter?"

"Because you're nosy?"

"Dean…"

Dean hissed, "I don't know." He looked at the floor, "There've been a couple here and there. I try to stay out of it though. I'm a hunter; having a relationship isn't exactly an option."

"But there were still some exceptions made?"

"No," Dean replied stiffly, "not really." It wasn't a lie—he wasn't with any of them now, because it never worked…and it never would.

Castiel nodded and looked away once more, "I see. And was that decision yours or theirs?"

"What? You expect me to let them come with me? To knowingly put them in danger?"

"If that is their choice, yes."

"They could die, Cas!"

Cas was upon him in a blink, his cerulean eyes gleaming with a strange fervency. "People die every day, Dean. I have watched them die for thousands of years. I too, will die one day. And when I look back I do not want to be stuck thinking about all the chances I had to live. I do not know any soul that wants that."

Dean choked on his breath.

"Do you think my mortality will render me useless?"

Dean took two large steps back farther into the dark, unable to handle the angle's closeness. Something about the look on Cas' face sliced into him, cutting deep into his chest and gripping his heart with cold hard claws. He'd seen that look before, in his own reflection. That look of defeat—so far beyond hopelessness that there was no light that could ever fully extinguish the shadow.

"This—this isn't what I wanted for you, Cas."

Cas' eyes narrowed. "What did you want then?"

"I don't know," Dean's voice was raised now, "but not this! You're an angel, Cas—that's who you are! You're supposed to be the best of us! You're not supposed to fall!"

Castiel closed in on him once more, "Whether you wanted this for me or not does not change anything. It has begun and there is no force save the Lord that can reverse it."

"Anna did it! She got her grace back!"

"Anna ripped her grace out whole. I have not. Mine would be scattered."

"Where? We could find it"

The angel's brow tightened in thought, "We could never find it all. Parts of it could be anywhere...maybe in that bench in the park, maybe in some motel rooms," Cas' eyes flickered over him and Dean felt his heart stutter, "maybe some in you too."

There was a beat of suspended silence, "What?"

"I said that there may be—"

"I heard what you said," Dean huffed, "so, you're meaning to tell me I could have some…angel mojo in me?"

"It is entirely possible," Castiel replied, tilting his head in that way he always did. It was making Dean uncomfortable—not that he wasn't already well beyond that level before.

"Ok, Cas, this is beginning to get way too weird, even for me. You can take us back now."

"You still have not answered my question."

Dean glared, "So what, this is a hostage situation now?"

The angel looked annoyingly confused, "No. I only want you to give me a straight answer."

"To what?"

"To what that kiss meant to you."

"It didn't mean anything to me," Dean replied quickly, knowing that if he didn't get the words out then he wouldn't be able to stomach them later. Because…he didn't want to think about what it meant. He couldn't.

"I do not believe that."

Dean growled and moved his gaze to just beyond Cas' left shoulder, because for some reason he couldn't quite bring himself to look the angel in the eye.

"Why not?"

"You would not have done it in the first place if that were so."

"Well I obviously would," Dean said between clenched teeth. "I was drunk, Cas."

Cas leaned forward, forcing Dean to meet his gaze, "Why won't you tell me the truth? What are you so scared of?"

"What do you want from me, Cas?" Dean snarled, his fists clenching. "What do you expect? Me to tell you that I thought it was perfect?" Something in him was breaking, cracking open under blue eyes that saw too deep, "That I've been empty for so damn long that I'd forgotten what anything else felt like? That it made me feel alive again?" Words were just spilling out now, so hard and fast Dean couldn't stop them. Everything he was feeling—he just couldn't contain it all anymore. So Cas wanted to see him fall apart? Fine.

"You don't know what it's like, Cas, you don't! You don't know what it's like living with the things I've done. But I've kept it all in, somewhere where even Sam couldn't see, and then you just waltz in and rip everything back apart like it's nothing!"

"Dean—"

"And for what, Cas? What did you possibly think would happen? That I would sweep you off your feet and carry you off into the sunset? That things would be different? That we could just leave it all behind?"

"Dean, I—"

"Well we can't, Cas!" Dean's eyes burned and he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. "Because whatever the hell happened between us last night can't mean anything! It's the goddamned apocalypse! And people out there _are_ dying, and it's _my_ fault! And—God—sometimes when I'm with you I forget that, and I can't forget it, Cas! I can't! I won't let myself! God, I just…" Dean's breath finally ran out and he swallowed back a choked sob.

"Dean…" ever so slowly Castiel raised his hands to cup his face and Dean was surprised by how alarmingly warm they felt against his skin, "thank you."

The surrounding dark seemed to lighten as Cas raised himself. And Dean knew what was happening, but it was beyond him somehow. The only thing he could feel was the supple pressing of dry lips against his own, and the soft heat that ignited in his chest and made his burn tingle. And it was just he and Cas alone in the dark, sharing a secret that could never exist. Cas knew. He understood—he understood everything—Dean could tell by the way he kissed him…like it was okay that it hurt…like he was forgiving Dean for something that hadn't even happened yet.

And Dean knew that Cas was the only person who would ever do that for him—love him knowing he could never be loved in return.

The thought made Dean's stomach churn.

And without even thinking, Dean kissed him back, hard and unforgiving, as if he could put everything that could've been into that one moment. He lifted his hands to the angel's throat and he could feel Cas' pulse quicken beneath his fingertips and feel his breath hitch against his lips. And that exhilarating feeling flew over Dean once more as they pressed in closer, hungry for the taste that filled their mouths and basking in the heady heat that danced across their skin. And Dean wondered what it would've been like, to touch skin against skin and become tangled in a mess of hot sweaty hard limbs and feel his body melded so perfectly into another—he wondered what it would've been like to be touched by someone who already knew every inch of him.

It was a glittering moment away from thought and forgetful of responsibilities, but that was all it was: a moment. Dean clung to it as long as he could, needing the warmth Cas filled him with and not wanting to understand or care why. But he could feel it slipping away from him, like water through cupped hands.

Castiel drew back, a final shaky breath pooling against Dean's lips. He let his fingers fall slowly, and Dean tried not to notice the trails of electricity they left in their wake, and the way that ghosting warmth still lingered in his chest. He forced his hands down as well, contorting his fingers at his sides as if it could relieve him of his want for just one more touch.

"Dean," Castiel breathed, "thank you."

They looked at each other then, and even in the dark Dean could see the glimmer of tears misting in the angel's eyes. He distantly wondered if Cas had ever cried before. Somehow he doubted it.

"Cas…I don't want to forget."

"I know."

"If we ever get out of this…I—"

"You don't have to say it."

Dean pressed his lips together tightly.

"We will do what needs to be done. That is all."

Dean didn't know what to say. What could he say really? The truth that hung between them couldn't be changed—their reality was a dream. That was the way it had to be. It was another sacrifice that had to be made. But at least…this time…Dean wasn't alone.

"I can take us back now."

"Yeah…Sam is probably starting to wonder where I am."

Castiel nodded.

They stood for a long moment in tainted silence.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Cas looked away, staring back at the dance floor as if it held some kind of secret that only he could know. "I love you."

Dean let the three words wash over him, knowing no one else would ever say them the same way.

"Yeah," a sad smile pulled at Dean's lips, "you too, Cas."

Then Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder, and together they flew into the early morning sky.

-**fin**

* * *

So yeah ummmm to say the least I wasn't exactly thrilled with the way this part turned out (which made me really sad cuz I liked the other two a lot)...but ya it just didn't feel as cohesive. And to make matters worse I just couldn't bring myself to write a fluffy ending! So it may be edited and reposted later. :( BUT I am planning on writing a longer Supernatural fic (with a happy ending) if I can get up the courage to start it.

Thanks again to all the reviewers annnnnnnd new reviews are always appreciated and they definitely make me want to write more *wink wink*.

-**Aima D. Duragon**

**-**P.S. If anyone is perhaps wanting to be a beta you should totally email me because I don't have one. You don't even have to do all the stories if you don't want, just the fandoms you like-and you totally don't have to be experienced or anything because I really don't care lol. I think I tend to miss a lot of grammar and spelling errors on my read throughs so it would be a great help even just on that kind of stuff! Thanks so much again!


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